More than a quarter century ago, I teased my good friend, Sister Libby, about her ugly nun shoes. Indignant, she claimed that she wore orthotics because she had bad feet. At the time, I walked around in medium-high heels, leaning decidedly towards the pointy-toed kind. High heels gave way to fashionable flats and wide sneakers.Continue reading “Imelda Marcos—Not!”
Ten minutes is a long time for a teenager to hug anyone.
GG was an archetypical Pollyanna. She made lemonade.
“How dumb can you board members be—desk shields are useless.”
The latest addition to my wardrobe is a finger glove.
This is the end. I can’t breathe. My chest is bursting.
“One night, I had a chat with my house.”
The Bobe, or Babushka, was the old crone in the faded sepia photograph in the dusty family album or, at best, in a tiny frame tucked behind a vase on the credenza. I was not going to be that person. Long before I discovered dozens of websites full of cool names for grandmothers, I knewContinue reading “They Call Me Dalma”
Only rarely was I smart enough to take a pair of stretch black jeans and a couple of black t-shirts and call it good.
“Loving your fellow as yourself,” said the great Jewish sage, Rabbi Akiva